


But Now Comes the Day

by NiennaNir



Series: The Appendix A Expansion Pack [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiennaNir/pseuds/NiennaNir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the Third Age, Tauriel's long exile has led her to Rohan and to the service of its people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Now Comes the Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicari_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicari_chan/gifts).



> For Nic, who needed to know what became of Tauriel.

A sharp wind bent the brown grasses of the Entwash vale, the last traces of winter stealing down from the high crags of the Wildermore, stirring the air with faint droplets too frosted to be rain and too wet to be sleet. The woman lifted her face up, a gust catching the wide brim of her hat and pushing it up from her alabaster face. She closed her eyes, letting the mist settle on her brow a moment.

“Do you smell that?” She asked, her lips curling down in a frown.

“What, smoke?” the young Rohirrim kicked at the last vestiges of a charred lintel with a scowl. “I cannot even smell my horse over this stench.” He turned, his eye scanning the remains of the farm as he wiped the blood from his blade.

“Such a waste,” he sighed shaking his head in revulsion at the dead orc slain at his feet. “Still, it is well that the farmer and his family heeded the warning to evacuate. Perhaps they found safe shelter. We should move on, Tauriel.”

“Not smoke,” Tauriel answered, her eyes narrowing as she strode up a hillock, her long slender legs eating up the ground with each step. She pushed up the brim of her hat, gazing out over the plains eastward toward the Norcrofts. “Look, there, Wulfstan.” The young man had clambered after her, as he always seemed to, his hand resting on his sword.

“How do you see so far with that abysmal hat in your way?” Wulfstan demanded squinting into the distance with a frustrated huff. Tauriel pressed her lips together to hide her smile as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

He had been little more than a boy two summers ago when she had first clapped eyes on him. Over the long years the Reeves of Rohan had come to know her, by reputation if not by name. In those first days she had been told that an outsider was not welcome to travel in the Riddermark unescorted and she had suffered the presence of whomever had most recently displeased his master for the sake of free passage. As time had passed and her standing had grown, her escorts had become younger and younger, the Reeves giving her their most promising young Riders, no doubt hoping they might learn some craft from her. Sixty years she had passed in the company of the Riders of Rohan and when his Reeve had presented Wulfstan as her escort the boy had looked up at her with something akin to glee, clearly surprised at his good fortune to gain a place at the side of the famed Ghost of the Mark.

Wulfstan was a boy no longer, it would soon be time to return him to his home, she had little more to teach him and he had grown into a fine warrior.

“Orcs,” she shook her head, the brim of her hat flopping slightly. “Many of them. More than these spare raiding parties. Perhaps a hundred.” Wulfstan’s sharp intake of breath was not lost on her.

“We cannot hope to take so many we two,” he stated, worry pinching his young face.

“No, we cannot,” Tauriel agreed, turning her eye slowly north. She let out a hiss and a curse under her breath.

“Another farm set alight?” Wulfstan asked, shifting closer to her as he spotted the single tendril of smoke rising above the horizon.

“No,” Tauriel growled in frustration. “A cooking fire.”

“Why do they think to stay?” Wulfstan bemoaned, turning his eyes back to the East for some sign of the orcs too far away for him to see. “Are they in danger’s path?”

“Aye,” Tauriel frowned, turning her head to eye Wulfstan. He met her gaze with both trust and devotion and she looked away, sighing, her decision made.

“You know I will do as you command,” he reminded though he need not have spoken the words. Tauriel knew. Whatever faults the men of Rohan might possess, a lack of loyalty was not among them, nor was there room in their hearts for prejudice against an honorable warrior, no matter how strange their appearance.

Not that she had ever been willing to test that acceptance to its furthest end.

“Ride South,” She instructed sharply, turning down the hillock and striding toward her horse. “The Third Marshal rides the Mark near Faldham. Find him, tell him a small host of orc make for Thornhope. If you are swift, there may yet be time.”

“What will you do?” Wulfstan asked worriedly, swinging effortlessly into the saddle.

“I will warn whom I may,” she replied, turning her horse North. His expression faltered and she spared him the ghost of a fond look.

“You’re a boy no longer, my young friend,” she offered. “When you find Lord Eomer, do as he commands.”

“I will not see you again, will I?” he asked.

“No, lad,” she shook her head. “my road leads on from here. But you are ready, and I have been honored by your company.”

“The Mark is honored to have your sword,” he insisted. “and I am honored to have carried it for you from time to time. Farewell, my lady.” Tauriel made no answer, spurring her horse northward, the winter wind catching at her hat as her horse’s hooves dug into the cold ground.

She spotted the farm as she crested an outcropping, nothing more than a single frame lodging tucked among the crags and a lean-to of a barn. The cooking fire curled happily out of the house’s single stone chimney, unwitting of the approaching danger. On another day she might have sent Wulfstan ahead of her to speak to the farmer and ask leave to bed the horses and for a place by the fire for a night, shelter against the cold. The people of Rohan were generous to a fault and well fed, eager to welcome any Rider of the Mark to the table, even a foreigner. But in her experience they were also stubborn and often foolish in their risks. She spurred her horse down the hill, making for the pen that held the horses.

A handful of mares skittered by the fence, tossing their heads in agitation, sensing the oncoming storm, no doubt, their eyes wide and nostrils flared. Tauriel swung out of the saddle in a fluid motion, her easy stride taking her to the nearest animal.

“Fear not, my cousin,” she murmured softly, stroking the mare’s face gently. “All will be well.”

“Unhand my horses!” the threatening growl broke in the middle, and Tauriel continued to sooth the startled animal without concern as she slowly turned her head. A boy, perhaps ten summers, stood near the corner of the lean-to, a hoe clutched in his white knuckled hands and his curly mop of dark brown hair falling in his eyes as he scowled at her threateningly.

“Is that a dwarf?” she asked the horse in feigned surprise. “I did not know they had come to these lands, for in truth that is why I came here.”

“I will not warn you again!” the child snarled.

“Aye, you won’t, lad,” she agreed, stepping back from the fence and turning toward the house, brushing by the boy as if he were not even there. His bright eyes gazed up at her fiercely and she stuffed down the jolt in the pit of her stomach, swallowing hard.

“Is your mother inside?” she demanded, returning to the business at hand. “All of these lands were to be cleared, why have you not sheltered in Eawort?”

“Cleared?” the boy asked in excitement as he scampered after her in confusion, his hoe still raised as if to strike her at any moment. “Are we at war? Have the Dunlanders come down from the Isen?” Tauriel rolled her eyes beneath the brim of her hat, a hint of anger in her tread as she crossed the farm yard and the door of the small timber house swung open.

She fairly skidded up short, her careful eye scanning the woman in the doorway. She was young, not yet thirty, and her red-blonde hair curled about her face prettily despite the smudge of baking flour marking one cheek. A girl of about six clung to her skirts, peering out from behind her mother with wide eyes and on the woman’s hip another girl child, hardly more than a babe was gnawing contentedly at a wooden spoon, her small, bare foot gently kicking against the woman’s distended abdomen. Tauriel let her gaze linger for a moment on the young mother’s belly, refusing to show any hint of emotion. This would certainly complicate things.

“Where is your husband, my lady?” Tauriel asked simply, meeting the woman’s eye with a hint of resignation.

“With the Riders of Théodred,” the young mother answered cautiously, her arms tightening reflexively around her youngest child. “If you needs speak with him you would be better served to seek them out near the fords of Isen for that is where they are tasked. Else you must wait until he returns home.” Tauriel let her eyes slip closed on a slow breath.

She knew well of what had transpired before Isengard, had heard the tidings from those who had thought to join the battle but had come too late. She opened her eyes, her gaze once more falling on the new life growing in his mother’s body. Such a shock would serve no one, particularly not now. If they lived she would tell the young widow that her husband would not be returning.

“A band of orcs approach from the southeast,” she stated simply and the woman’s eyes widened in fear. “Tamp out the fire, take the children into the cellar.” She turned on her heel, as the young woman ducked into the house.

“Orcs?” The boy bounced on his feet beside her, eyes shining with excitement. Tauriel let out a soft breath, trying not to look at him as her narrowed eyes carefully marked every niche and rock of the farm yard.

“Do not welcome them too readily,” She stated in mournful resignation as the young mother reappeared in the doorway, towing her middle child after her as she clutched the youngest close. “If your father left you a sword, now is the time to wield it.” The boy’s gaze swung to his mother whose shoulders slumped.

“Under the bed,” the woman answered his unspoken question, steering her daughter down the stoop and around the house as the boy took off like a shot up the steps. Tauriel strode back across the farm yard, grasping hold of the rope lashed to the gate.

“Mother she’s stealing the horses!!” the boy shouted at his mother who was struggling, one handed with the cellar door, his eyes like saucers as Tauriel opened the gate, whistling at the horses.

“The horses will return,” Tauriel half barked at him, striding back across the yard to grip his shoulder and shoving him along in front of her as the horses raced frantically westward. She reached out to heave the door to the cellar open. “Stay silent, do not come out until you are certain all danger has past, no matter what you hear, do not open the door.” The young mother nodded mutely, herding her two youngest ahead of her into the back of the cellar as Tauriel gave the boy a firm shove down the steps before turning away.

“I can fight,” the lad insisted, his round face crinkled in a scowl as he scurried back up the steps after her, his blade clutched tight in his hands.

“I have seen dwarves taller than you, boy,” Tauriel observed with a frown, creeping up the hill behind the lean-to. She flattened herself in the grass, brushing a hand under the wide brim of her hat as she stared into the distance.

“I’m not stupid,” the boy wrinkled his nose as he crawled up the hill beside her, laying down in the grass and peering with squinted eyes in the same direction. “Dwarves are a myth, tales the old wives tell to scare little children.”

“Is that so?” She asked in amusement, scanning the horizon. “I know a tale of a dwarf, he won the heart of an elf maid.”

“That’s silly,” the child declared, with a huff. “Elves aren’t real, and if they were, they wouldn’t want anything to do with short, smelly dwarves.”

“Ah, well, love is silly,” Tauriel agreed.

“That’s an ugly hat,” the lad observed. “Why do you wear it?”

“It shades my eyes so I can see far across the plains,” Tauriel answered cheekily. The boy pulled a face in skepticism. “What’s your name, dwarf?”

“Aedelwine,” he replied. “I don’t see anything. Are there really orcs out there?” Tauriel closed her eyes, holding in a sigh before turning to him.

“Aedelwine, you are going to take your father’s blade and guard your mother and your sisters in the cellar, because I cannot watch both them and my own back.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked as they slithered down the hill.

“I am going to hope the orcs believe I am the only one defending this farmstead,” she stated, gripping his shoulder firmly and steering him toward the cellar once more.

“What happened to the dwarf?” he asked curiously.

“What happens to all mortals at some point,” Tauriel stated, grasping hold of the cellar door and once more shoving him down the steps.

“Well, what happened to the elf maid then?” he questioned, loitering on the stairs. Tauriel met his gaze for a long moment.

“Nothing,” she answered finally, shaking her head. “Nothing ever happened to her, ever again.” She move to close the cellar door but he stopped it with his shoulder, peering up at her.

“Have you really seen dwarves?” he asked. Tauriel gritted her teeth, pressing the door down on him.

“I don’t believe you!” He sing-songed through the heavy oak. Tauriel turned away with a huff, striding across the yard and, grasping the eaves at the edge of the roof, hauled herself up, scurrying on light feet over the thatch to tuck herself behind the chimney. She sucked in a slow, deep breath, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow, carefully sighting along it.

She could still smell ash and the chimney stones warmed her back in the cool air through smoke no longer curled from the flue. She pressed closer to the firm stone, peering around the edge of the chimney.

“Go along, don’t come this way,” she whispered softly, watching as the monsters made their way across the plains of Rohan, not even a quarter league off and moving with haste. She flinched. These were no goblins or Mordor orcs, slow and stupid. These were huge, ugly brutes, a head taller than most men and broad of shoulder, their arms and legs muscled. They moved at speed and she pressed closer against the warm stone, crouching down until her hat all but blended in with the thatch roof. She gave a grimace as their track shifted, an ill formed phalanx breaking off from the main group and coming closer.

Tauriel drew in a long slow breath, her eyes half lidded as her fingertips curled lightly around the string of her bow. An ugly, guttural snarl met her ears and her eyes snapped fully open.

In one swift motion she slipped lightly around the chimney, drawing back her bow. She let the arrow fly, drawing and releasing another before the first could even find its mark. The orc howled as it fell and she released another arrow as shouted black speech and squalls like stuck pigs filled the air.

“On the roof!” one of the creatures bellowed in warning and Tauriel ducked, rolling off the back of the roof as the orcs howled angrily. She sprinted to the corner of the house on swift feet, nocking another arrow and letting it fly the moment she sighted around the wall. Her heart pounded in her chest as she let another arrow go and then took off at a run toward the lean-to, leaping the fence and pressing her back to the wall of the barn. The swiftest of them that she hadn’t been able to take out lumbered into the farm yard and she let five more arrows fly, felling half of the brutes.

She took a run up, lightly leaping up the hillock behind the lean-to and crossing its roof on feet light as a deer. The orcs snarled in anger, scrabbling after her and she ducked the poorly aimed arrow of one of their archers, shooting three more orcs before jumping the short distance onto a low hanging branch of the only tree in the farm yard and taking aim. Her last arrow flew true and she tossed her bow aside, drawing her blade. With a sharp yell she leapt from the branches, landing on the shoulders of one of the orcs and driving her sword between its shoulder blades.

She jumped as if from a spring board, landing in the back of another orc and driving her blade home before spinning, light on her feet, drawing back her fist and punching an orc in the face. He wobbled a moment, shaking his head as if trying to clear it, her sword lashed out, cutting him down and he tumbled to the ground.

Tauriel ducked past several more orcs, hewing them down and leaping up to run along the fence, her blade slashing through the foul beasts as they raced toward her. The splintering of wood met her ears and she whirled on the corner post to find one of the larger brutes prying at the cellar door. She raced back along the fence the way she’d come, more of the orcs pursuing her and she sprang onto the roof, sliding down the other side of the thatch to slam feet first into the orc’s chest. She barely had time to draw her blade from his throat when an angry squall met her ears and she turned wide eyed to find one of the creatures behind her, blade raised over its head.

It gurgled, it’s eyes growing wide and then simply fell over in a heap, revealing young Aedelwine standing behind it in the remains of the cellar door, his blood stained blade clutched in both hand as his panicked eyes stared at her from a pale face.

“Stay here,” She ordered and he nodded mutely in reply as she sprang up, her sword clashing against the blade of the orc charging down on them. Most of the others lay dead or dying in the farm yard while the remainder had turned tail, running off toward the larger pack that was still heading North West. It was unlikely they would return soon but she did not allow herself a sigh of relief.

The last orc growled, it’s foul breath turning her stomach and she dove beneath his swing, kicking his legs out from under him. He scrabbled after her, his meaty paw tangling in her hauberk and jerking her off balance. She corrected before she could stumble but the motion halted the orc’s momentum and he slammed into her, knocking the hat from her head with the force of his impact.

She felt the blade slip between her ribs in a sort of detached surprise, adrenaline burning away most of the pain like charred paper. She spun on her heel, dislodging the beast’s hold as her sword met with its throat. It let out a gurgling squawk, crumpling to the earth and she lost her footing, the world spinning around her even though she’d stopped all movement. The hard packed earth of the farm yard game up at her in a bleary haze, knocking the wind from her as she landed.

Tauriel rolled over with a sharp gasp, the clouds overhead turning in lazy circles in a sea of bright blue though they were meant to be drifting into the West. She gave a cough, letting out a groan as it rattled the pain in her side.

The sky was so beautiful this time of year.

“M’ lady?” the boy’s voice sounded frantic and his footfalls beat against the earth in a rhythm that rattled her bones. He stumbled to his knees beside her with wide, frightened eyes, one grubby hand reaching out hesitantly over her as if he were unsure if he should touch.

“Ah, Dwarf,” Tauriel smiled, letting out another cough. “You’ve lived.” Aedelwine nodded, his eyes brimming with tears.

“You… you’re an elf,” he whispered in awe. “You’re not real.”

“No, not particularly,” Tauriel agreed, licking her dry lips. “I’ve not been real for quite a few years now. But that’s no real concern.” She gave him a sad smile.

“You fought bravely,” she said, drawing in a stuttering breath. “Your father would be pleased.”

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his own tears spilling over to splash against her hand still clutching her sword to her breast.

“You remind me of someone I used to know,” she admitted mournfully, raising her hand enough that the tips of her fingers gently brushed his cheek. “I never wished to be reminded of him again. Especially not now.”

“You were the elf maid,” he declared in wonder. Tauriel let a soft smile tug at her lips as his face took on a stricken look, sussing out her meaning. “But elves are immortal, all the stories say so. So you can’t die.” his breath hitched and he scrubbed at his eyes in frustration.

“Is that so?” Tauriel asked in amusement. “Well you can’t always believe those stories the old wives tell you, dwarf.” She struggled to draw breath, biting back a moan.

“What can I do?” he asked, his lip quivering as his brow knitted in an angry frown.

“I said once that I would fight rather than let darkness fall upon the world,” She confessed, clearing her throat with a cough. “And that I have done. The Third Marshal rides here, when you see him, tell him that Tauriel has fulfilled her oath.” The boy nodded, mopping at his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. His hand settled over hers, gripping at it awkwardly.

“Do you really think papa will be proud of me?” he said, his voice cracking. She gave a slow nod and he squeeze her hand. “I think your dwarf would be proud of you too.” Tauriel only gave him a watery smile, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she closed her eyes.

**  
**  



End file.
